Transference
by Wicked R
Summary: Post season 8, AU where Castiel fell the same way as the rest of the angels and is now trying to heal Sam instead of Zeke. Friendshipfic, Destiel if you squint.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Transference

Disclaimers: Purely for fun only. Classic case of 'if you don't see it on screen, fill the void in yourself and write it'.  
Genre: hurt/comfort you glorious!

Rating: PG

Summary/Set/Pairing: Post season 8, AU where Castiel fell the same way as the rest of the angels and is now trying to heal Sam instead of Zeke. Friendshipfic, Destiel if you squint.

Castiel was exhausted and hurting by the time he reached the bunker using a combination of trains, hitchhikes, buses and walking, but he knew he had to go on with no time to waste regardless of his fall induced injuries, the amount of adjusting his new condition necessitated or the guilt that accompanied his role, however unsuspecting, in the angels falling. But Sam was dying and the moment Dean let him out the embrace the hunter greeted him by the door, he let himself being directed to Sam's bedside. A quick touch of his hand confirmed the unfortunate state the young Winchester was in, no better than he had feared and Castiel sighed, "Dean, as I told you already after the first trial, this kind of damage is impossible to heal. But as I did before in similar circumstances, I could shift it." At Dean's alarmed look, he added, "it would not kill me, but it might incapacitate me for a while. And it will certainly kill Sam if we do not make haste."

Dean winced, "I don't like doing this to you man. Are you sure there is no other way?"

"I can assure you Dean that the consequences for me will not be as devastating as when I took the mental manifestations of his previous affliction on. It is only his body that is ailing, not his mind or soul and therefore it will be easier for me to overcome. I'd like to proceed now because the longer we wait, the more damage I need to work with."

"Yeah, okay," Dean gave his consent bitterly, not liking the situation one bit.

Castiel nodded, taking Sam's hand in his. He closed his eyes and stood unwavering like a statue for a good minute till Dean started wondering what was going on, "is it working?" The hunter probed.

A slow smile spread on the angel face, "at least some amends, I can make. It's done," he let go of and turned away from Sam, his hands pulling close to his body to cradle himself instead, "he'll wake up in a minute," he assured and fell forward, giving only enough time for Dean to catch him before his forehead hit the ground.

"A little bit of warning would be nice," Dean grunted one of his habitual phrases at Castiel, manoeuvring him to his side in his arms so that the angel's head rested on the hunter's knees. He was contemplating where he should lay his friend now and how when Sam's face appeared at the side of the bed looking down at them. "What happened?"

"What happened was that you almost died, that's what!" Dean complained, "it's a very annoying habit of yours! How do you feel?"

"Cas." Sam set his feet down on the floor, scrutinizing the other two, "why do I have this deja-vu feeling? Tell me he didn't take my illness on."

"What was I supposed to do Sam, watch you die?" Dean argued, "Cas would not watch that happening either if he could help it. At least we don't have to leave him in a dubious mental institution with a demonic babysitter this time."

"You can't make these decisions for me," Sam contended, but his priority was tending to the fallen angel, not quarrelling with his brother. In an instant, Castiel's body was lifted out of Dean's hands by Sam's now strong ones and placed on the bed just a minute ago the Winchester was lying on. His eyes lingered on the pale form and he smoothened the lapel of his trenchcoat before turning, "I'm not just going to wait till he gets better on his own. Kevin and I will hit any source available to figure how the trials' effects can be reversed or at least anything that could strengthen or help an angel heal. You stay with him, Dean."

"Who put you in charge?" The older brother muttered at his leaving brother, though agreeing with everything that was said. Castiel was an angel, he could deal with the damage, however that didn't make it easy to watch when his colour turned ashen, his brow glistened with sweat, his lips quivering with the same torment that made his fists clench. Dean had no idea what he could do to help. Once again, he was powerless to make any difference, but he felt this intense urge to embrace and clasp his friend against him, as if that could've protected him somehow. Instead, he collapsed into a chair close by, "Cas you know..did it ever occur to you that you don't have to do this? Without sounding like an ungrateful bastard, you should know by now what free will means? It means you don't have to jump when I say jump. I mean, thank you for all those times you stood by us, fought for us, rescued us, weaved your stupid little schemes you thought would serve us best, but man, you gotta stop this one day and do what you want, you hear me?" Dean sighed. His outburst of course only happened because Cas in fact, probably could not hear him, but at this point in time the hunter contemplated if he should really voice his thanks to his guardian angel once when Castiel was actually conscious. "Thank you Cas," he muttered even quieter though, "for everything." He shook his head, giving into the idle wait. If the most he could do was stare at the angel all day long and will him better, than that's what he was going to do.

Tbc


	2. Flat

Chapter 2: Flat

Sam wasn't sure if it was the frantic cries of his brother that alerted him or Castiel's unearthly screaming, but he rounded the corner to his room with a skid where the angel was laid up to find their ill friend trashing involuntarily, his veins more prominent than they had been before, breaths coming in moans and gulps and barred teeth in between when traces of his true voice slipped through. Dean was holding one of Castiel's hands and had a palm on the angel's forehead too, smoothing and soothing and trying to calm him down with hushes and babbling expressions like "just hold on a little longer" and "come on, just a little longer." Dean's tone was completely different towards his brother, "did you get the morphine?" He barked.

"Yes, yes," Sam tried to placate his frantic older brother, just as anxious himself on the inside. He administered the dose promptly and they both watched uneasily how Castiel stilled, his trashing reduced to twitches and the occasional bigger breaths of air.

"It's not working," Dean spat, not removing his comforting palm from the angel's forehead, "he's needing morphine more and more often and he keeps moaning in agony even so."

"I know that Dean. Did he wake up?" Sam probed.

Dean winced and shook his head, "yes, a few times, for minutes. It wasn't pretty," he closed his eyes fleetingly, wanting to rub those pain filled blue eyes out his visual memory.

"We'll keep searching.." Sam offered futilely, knowing himself it didn't offer any comfort. He stood to return to his research, finding himself face to face with Kevin.

"What!" Dean snapped at the prophet's timid knock on the open door.

"There might be a temporary solution that might help if only for a while," Kevin ventured.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Dean shook his head.

"Uhm no.." Kevin let his other hand come into view guardedly, revealing that he was holding a metal chain, one from the dungeon, designed to restrain demons. Crowley followed with the iron rings on his neck and wrists attached to the chain. "I can help out the space cadet here. Of course the problem is that he always thinks he's the whole cavalry, but on the long run I'm guessing that's just a flawed character trait."

Dean vaulted from his position, glaring at Kevin in reproach, but with the bulk of his attention on the former ruler of hell. "If you as much as touch him, I'll personally deliver you to Abaddon, small fry," he stood threateningly inches from the shackled man.

"Wow, wow, wow, slowly!" Crowley put his hands up placatingly, aren't you forgetting I'm almost like one of you boys?" He crooned complacently.

"What could you do for him?" Sam asked hopefully.

"I'd like to know the whys first," Dean put up a halting hand, "what could get you to help an arch enemy? You're one of the most likely people to want to torture him and we should let you be Cas' attending physician?"

"But one of my very favourite arch enemies, an old business partner no less squirrel I'm used to clean up messes for, would be reason number one. Number two, and very pressing reason I must say is that angel voice of his hurting my very delicate demon ears. Him continuously howling in pain could be such a pleasure in different circumstances, but sadly Moose here was committed enough to purify me to the extent I don't have satisfactory strength demonic powers to use them as earplugs against an angel's true voice. Much, much worse than a Neil Diamond album and on the loop too! Number three, well, a happy ending for all of us, myself included, wouldn't that be nice? I offer my services as a bargaining chip, after all, I'm still in the trade business my dearests. Number four, I don't know why you're not openly admitting to it, but there's discernible erotic value to touching that scrumptious vessel. I've always enjoyed seeing him without less clothes with the occasion of some torture and whatnot. Number five, you know what a philanthropist I am, blah blah blah, can we get on with it now?"

"What is it you want in return?" Dean filtered out the point of the offer from the codswallop of blurb.

"Nothing much, gov. But since you're my jailer and everything, some privileges would be nice. Access to warm water, electricity, a good book, some vintage flicks, over 40 inch flat screen television, some Vivaldi, Beethoven or Tchaikovski..Coldplay perhaps."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure Sam could lend you some of those," Dean held out a halting hand, "we'll see what's practicable," he scowled, "how much can you help?"

"My touch would certainly be more effective than morphine shots for pain relief. As for the damage on the molecular level, I could recharge some electrons, but that will cost you more."

"Don't push it," Dean negotiated grabbing the handle of his demon killing knife, but didn't completely pulled it out from inside his pocket.

"Just do what you can Crowley," Sam petitioned more placatingly, "I'll see to it that we will be as grateful as we can under the circumstances."

"For you, Moose," the red eyed demon allowed, content with having annoyed Dean enough for the moment and stepped prudently closer, cornering the older Winchester a little wider than absolutely necessary, chains clinking against the floorboards and bedframe as he stopped by the angel's bedside, then lifted Castiel's shirt casually and smoothed it out the way. There was no coincidence he had shot the angel in the stomach before, he liked the sight, the perfectness of the curves and the cute shape of the bellybutton, the fine and delicate pleasure trail and the outline of the muscles. What was with that? He mused.

"Are you going to start or what?" Dean was irritated by the demon's absent-minded demeanour.

"What do you think I am? A faith healer?" Crowley scoffed, but proceeded. Keeping a light hand on Castiel's stomach, he closed his eyes, having some difficulties to concentrate on sensing out the weakness of other supernatural beings given his own less than perfect demonic state due to the last trial.

"If you do him any harm I swear I'm using the knife no matter what Sam wants," Dean threatened after not so patiently waiting for a little while with nothing happening.

Crowley opened his eyes just to roll them and waved his free hand wildly about in frustration, "I need to assess the damage before I set to repair it or would you like me just to randomly realign his prostate cells into his throat?"

"Well, there! How do we actually know Crowley's not going to do any damage!" Dean complained, "seriously Sammy?"

"Crowley's not what he used to be like," Sam placated ditheringly.

"I'm not surprised he's in so much pain," the demon reported while the brothers argued, hands floating across Castiel's rigid, tensed up stomach, probing and pressing against the naked flesh, somewhere in between an abdominal examination and preternatural sensing, "some of these organs have practically disintegrated."

"Are you just going to shilly-shally, or do something?" Dean barked at him.

Crowley shrugged and removed his fingers from the thin line of pubic hair they were brushing over,

"I already did."

Dean was ready for instant punishment as Castiel groaned, but then the angel opened his eyes, expression relaxed, breathing even, notwithstanding the confusion on his brow with Crowley's benevolent face towering over him.

"Hello darling." The ex king of hell offered.

Castiel shifted slightly, scooting away on the bed as much as his condition allowed, prompting Dean to move in to steady him, "Cas! Are you ok? How are you feeling? Crowley sworn he was helping you. Was he helping you?" The hunter fretted.

The angel touched his stomach hesitantly, "I..I believe he has. It will be much easier and quicker to heal the impairment without the constant distraction of having to subdue pain and inflammation," he said slowly, eyes fluttering shut. "I would like to sleep now," he took a deep breath and buried the side of his face into the pillow.

"Oh, you're welcome by the way," Crowley rolled his eyes, "and you wonder why people don't practice altruism more!"

Tbc


	3. Renewal

Chapter 3: Renewal

"Are you feeling faint?" Dean settled Castiel against the headboard as he helped him up for a relatively more active day the next morning.

"I am not going to fall unconscious," his friend assured him.

"Are you too cold? Too warm? You had a pretty raging fever during the night."

"I believe my body's temperature is approximating the human norm, Dean, thanks to your compresses."

"Do you feel sick?"

"I feel the sickbowl you are holding is unnecessary at this time."

Dean sighed, unconvinced, "you're holding your stomach. It hurts?"

"A little," Castiel admitted, "not enough to concern you. Now I must thank Crowley for his assistance in this matter."

"Stupid son of a bitch!"

"Who? Crowley?"

"No, you, you idiot! Why on earth would you want to thank the, however former," Dean rolled his eyes, "king of hell! If nothing else, have you noticed his title!"

"Any act of kindness should be responded to with similar kindness, especially if it might encourage positive change."

"Sure, Crowley's the benefactor of humankind now. Well, I'm not endangering anyone by bringing him up the dungeon and you're staying to rest in bed, no arguments, at least till you're able to levitate the remote control over or show me in some  
other way you're charged back up. Until then, I'll switch the tv on and we're watching some movies. Can I get you anything before I sit down? Painkillers? The sickbowl?"

"I can assure you Dean that I am recovering well, but I would appreciate a glass of water, please."

"See?" Dean grumbled, moving to fetch the required item from the en suite bathroom, "you're not fighting fit yet if you need to drink."

"I recommend "It's A Wonderful Life" since neither of you has seen it," Sam mentioned, shouting in following overhearing their conversation while passing the room on the corridor, "it's on TCM right now!"

"Thank you for the recommendation Sam," Castiel called back, having no idea what he's getting himself into, "Dean? What are you doing? I can't move if you're sitting that close on my blanket."

"That's the idea!" Dean chuckled, switching through the channels to get to the desired one. As an additional safety measure, he put an arm round his friend. "You're staying till I say you can go, got it?"

The End.


End file.
